


It's a terrible A/B/O AU

by CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball



Series: Submissions to Soullessbrothers [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Office, Boss Dean, Bottom Dean, Dominant Sam, M/M, Office Sex, Omega Dean, Personal Assistant Sam, Submissive Dean, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball/pseuds/CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*mildly thrilling elevator music plays*<br/>Ladies and Gentlemen, and now the three hundred dollar question: What did Personal Assistant Sam Wesson do today at his new job?<br/>A) Introduce a new filing system<br/>B) Crowd his boss against the desk<br/>C) Repair the coffe machine<br/>D) Tie his boss up with his suspenders<br/>E) Knot his boss through a conference call</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a terrible A/B/O AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soullessbrothers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/gifts).



_Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner! The correct answer is of course F) All of the above!_

“And the reports from Human Resources have their own folder now, under Departments.”

The tall Alpha flashes Dean a smile, and Dean very carefully does not swallow heavily.

“Is that alright with you, Sir?”

The Alpha- Sam, his name is Sam- asks, and there’s a deep undertone in his voice. Or maybe Dean is just imagining things.

“Sure.”

The Omega replies, curt, and focuses on the screen of his computer. Numbers in Excel, yes, good, nice and boring. He needs to memorize these for the call later.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?”

Wesson is probably the most fucking polite knothead this company ever hired.

Dean did not make it this far up the corporate ladder as an Omega by hitting on subordinates.

“I could use a coffee, if that’s okay with you.”

Dean says, eyes fixed on the screen. That’s what secretaries do, getting coffee, even if they’re big, strong, delicious smelling Alphas.

“Of course.”

Wesson replies, but steps behind Dean’s chair, close, so close Dean can feel the warmth that radiates from the tall man as he leans over, points at a number on the screen.

“I think that figure needs to be recalculated.”

Dean suddenly has the strange urge to jump up- he’s not entirely sure what he’d do, shove the looming Alpha away or grab that ridiculously ugly yellow shirt and- but he forces his breathing to remain calm and looks where his secretary points, and yeah.

“You’re right. Good job.”

Dean’s voice is not breathy. It’s not.

“How do you take your coffee?”

Wesson asks, and he’s a bit slow with the step back, or maybe Dean is not thinking clearly.

“Milk, no sugar. You’ll have to go to the Coffee Shop across the building.”

Away, on a legitimate errand, for at least ten minutes.

“Actually, I fixed the coffee maker this morning before you came in.”

Jesus, is there nothing that kid can’t do?

“Would you be alright with the drip brew, Sir?”

Quick, an indifferent shrug.

“Of course.”

He sends the Alpha a small smile.

“Well done.”

“Only doing my job.”

Wesson leaves, the door falls shut and Dean groans. He’s hard under his desk, and there’s slick that slowly starts to drip out of him. He’s on suppressants, this shouldn’t be happening.

The worst thing is that there’s not a single good reason to request someone else as his PA.

How long is getting his coffee gonna take? The employee kitchen is on the other side of the floor at least. If the coffee has to brew first… Dean presses a button on the remote control, and the blinds on his office’s window shut. He palms himself and moans lowly, and crap, he’s so fucked. And warm.

He shrugs out of his jacket, rolls his chair back because he can’t think straight, leans back, suspenders digging into his shoulders. His belt buckle makes a soft clink, Dean reaches into his modest, sensible, ironed cotton boxer briefs, and is a goner.

The door opens, and Dean freezes. Wesson comes in, looks at Dean and closes the door behind him. Unlike Dean, he has the presence of mind to turn the lock, just a flick of his wrist, but it changes everything.

“I’ve got your coffee, Sir.”

There’s a definite growl in his voice now that jerks straight through Dean’s dick, makes his hole clench around emptiness that gapes all of a sudden.

Dean is still staring at the Alpha wide-eyed, like a doe at an approaching truck, while Wesson moves, puts the steaming cup on the desk and looks at Dean,  eyes narrowed ever so slightly. And then he smirks.

“Stand up, Sir.”

Dean obeys before he can even think about it, Omega instincts take over, because the Alpha was polite, but that just now wasn’t a request.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Smith?”

The words are mouthed against his neck, and Dean realizes too late what is going on when a cool shiver runs down his spine.

Heat. His suppressants are failing him, he’s fucking gone into heat, triggered by a compatible Alpha. By his assistant, whose hands settle on Dean’s hips right now. Dean whimpers softly.

“Am I to take that noise as a request, Sir?”

Lips on his neck, the Alpha’s nose brushes the sensitive skin under Dean’s ear, scents him.

“Fuck.”

The curse escapes Dean at his body’s violent reaction.

“Certainly.”

The growl causes a new wave of slick to pour out of Dean, and then Wesson’s fingers are on his suspenders, snap them loose, to shove all of Dean’s clothing out of the way at once. Dean sucks in his breath sharply to form a coherent thought.

“Fuck, we can’t- can’t do this.”

“Of course we can, Sir.”

The Alpha pulls Dean’s arms behind his back and wraps the elastic fabric of the suspenders securely around Dean’s wrist.

“I can smell it all over you. You want this.”

“Gonna get fired. Shit. Both of us gonna get fired for this.”

Dean curses and leans back into the touch, the broad warmth behind him.

Wesson chuckles.

“No we won’t, Sir.”

He bends Dean over his desk, fumbles with his own belt just for a moment, and then the fat head of his cock nudges at Dean’s hole, and Dean writhes back against him like the needy little Omega whore that he is.

“Fuck, Wesson, please-”

“Sam.” The Alpha corrects him. “Say my name, Sir. Beg me for it.”

“Please, Sam, need you. Fuck me, Sam, please-”

Dean’s shout when the Alpha shoves into him roughly is caught by a large hand over his mouth.

“Your office isn’t wholly soundproof, Sir, but feel free to try and make as much noise as you want.”

Sam pants and then proceeds to graze his teeth along the skin of Dean’s neck while he fucks into him with fierce, perfect thrusts. Dean is a writhing mess, face pressed into the hard wood of his desk, clothes all wrinkled. One particularly hard movement of the Alpha’s rutting hips has Dean arch his back, and his shoulder knocks over the cup of coffee, spills it all over the desk and floor.

Thank god his assistant filed all the important documents away.

“I want you to come on my cock for me, Sir. Think you can do that for me?”

Sam speeds up, fucks him even faster, and Dean completely loses control over what his body does, all his thoughts gone up in smoke and ashes, only the heat of the thrusts that remains, and the Alpha hits that _spot_ and Dean comes with a cry, spurts all over the floor of his office, and his computer makes a pinging noise that gets lost between the Omega’s moans.

Sam pulls him backwards by his hips, sits down on Dean’s leather chair, still hard and hot inside of him, and the Omega on his lap, despite himself, gives a soft, begging whimper.

“I am going to knot you now, Sir.”

Sam says the words into Dean’s ear, low and firm, and there’s no disagreement to be had.

“That was the reminder. The call.”

Dean says, and fights for his voice to even while the Alpha moves his hips in small, circular motions. His arms are still bound behind his back, the smell of sex heavy in the air.

“I am aware of that.”

Oh fuck, that voice. Sam’s knot swells up inside him, locks them together, and Dean groans at the tight, glorious feeling.

“Don’t worry. Your call will be right on time, Sir.”

With a soft chuckle, Dean’s assistant reaches for the phone, dials, holds the receiver to Dean’s ear.

“Anything else I can do for you, Sir?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first things I ever wrote for soullessbrothers over on tumblr. Since she deleted her blog, I figured I'd clean it up a little and repost it here, gifted to her. For the record, there are very few feelings for a newbie fanfic writer that can begin to compare to tags in capslock by Helen.


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